


Not For You

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Genderbending, Love, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-04
Updated: 2010-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 23:32:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew has been a servant for the Kirklands since he was a boy, but he's only rarely had occasion to be near the young master of the estate—until Lady Francis catches him looking one afternoon, and makes an arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not For You

**Author's Note:**

> Genderswapped characters: France and Spain.

When Matthew becomes aware of the new Lady Kirkland's proximity, he drops his gaze from the remote figure of the estate's young lord and returns to the task of removing the weeds that have dared encroach upon the rose bushes along the south side of the gazebo.

He stops again when she approaches and when she halts at his side, he rises to his feet. Though he faces her, he keeps his eyes deferentially down.

She does not address him at first. He remains as he is, and finally he hears her draw in breath to speak. "He's not for you. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Matthew says, eyes still averted.

She snorts indecorously. "Do I look like a ma'am to you?" Matthew does not reply, does not raise his eyes to make an assessment, and so she continues, "You may call me Francis. Or," she adds without waiting for response, "if that is too intimate, Miss. Yes, I think I like that. 'Miss' will do nicely."

He's aware of her eyes on him, but he does not raise his own. "Yes, Miss."

"So," she resumes, "you know, don't you? That he's not for you?"

"Yes, Miss."

"I could arrange for you to be near him," she says.

She seems to require response now, so he says, "Yes, Miss."

"Do you know how to drive an automobile?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Good," she says. "Then you'll drive us, starting tomorrow."

 

A month after Matthew assumes his new duties, a friend of Miss Francis's pays a visit. Master Arthur is engaged in business for the afternoon, so he has the car sent for with instructions to take the two ladies on a countryside drive.

"Matthew," Miss Francis says as he opens the door for them, "this is Miss Antonia Carriedo."

"Hello, Matthew," Miss Antonia says.

Matthew tips his cap and offers her a hand as she steps to seat herself inside.

He is just turning the car out of the long drive when Miss Francis says, "Miss Antonia is really quite beautiful, Matthew, don't you think?"

Eyes on the road ahead, Matthew says, "Yes, Miss."

"Her hair is quite luxurious, isn't it? Don't you want to run your fingers through it?" Miss Francis asks.

In the rearview mirror Matthew catches a glimpse of her fingers running through Miss Antonia's hair. He finds himself caught in Miss Francis's gaze, and fixes his own back on asphalt and gravel and tar.

"And her mouth—don't you want to cover it with your own?"

Matthew snags on Miss Francis's one-eyed gaze in the mirror, her other eye hidden by the angle required to fasten her lips to Miss Antonia's.

"And her breasts, Matthew," Miss Francis says when she breaks for air. "Don't you want to touch them? In fact," Miss Francis indulges herself, "don't you want to put your hands and mouth all over her flesh?"

Matthew keeps his eyes on the road, his hands on the wheel, his mouth closed.

 

For the next month, Matthew continues to drive Master Arthur and Miss Francis, sometimes together and sometimes separately, always without incident. And then one afternoon, Master Arthur calls for the car. The young lord is often preoccupied when he takes the car, and in any event does not engage Matthew in conversation the way Miss Francis does; he has not spoken more than a half-dozen words to Matthew since Matthew began chauffeuring him (which is, of course, a half-dozen more words than Matthew had ever expected Master Arthur to direct to him).

This time, though, when Matthew gets into the driver seat after putting Master Arthur in the back, Master Arthur leans forward.

"My wife tells me you are a model of discretion, Matthew."

"Yes, Sir."

"And may I count upon you to protect my indiscretions as well as you protect hers?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very good," Master Arthur says, and though Matthew does not look in the rearview mirror as he starts the engine, he can hear the smile in the pleased tone.

Master Arthur says no more until they are halfway down the drive, when he gives the order to halt. "That won't be necessary," he says when Matthew starts to get out, so Matthew remains seated in front while the young lord opens his own door.

In the periphery of his vision Matthew sees someone slip out from behind one of the age-old elms and come toward them. Master Arthur lets the other man climb into the back seat before he climbs in himself; in the moment that Master Arthur is turned back to the door to pull it shut, Matthew's eyes stray up to the rearview mirror—and meet a pair of unexpectedly familiar blue eyes in return.

Matthew looks away first, eyes snapping to his hands on the steering wheel, then up to the road as he hears the slam of the backseat door.

The young man involved in this indiscretion is another servant in the household. Master Arthur does not ask whether Matthew wishes to touch Alfred's hair or mouth or flesh, he simply does it himself. And Matthew simply drives on.

 

Matthew is awake when the soft knock on his door comes that night, followed by the soft creak of the door opening, the softer tread of familiar feet. Alfred shuts the door behind him but stays by it.

Matthew stays on his side, facing the wall.

"I had to." Alfred's voice strains with whispering. "He's the master of the house..."

"I know."

Matthew rolls onto his back now. Alfred stays by the door; Matthew's eyes are adjusted to the dark enough to see Alfred's arm curving back behind him, his hand still on the doorknob.

"Do you want me to go?" Alfred asks after a while.

"You can stay," Matthew says, pushing the covers down, lying back on the mattress, spreading his legs as Alfred crawls onto the bed between them.

 

It's only a week before Master Arthur asks for Matthew's discretion again. He has Matthew drive him to a different spot this afternoon, and again he gets his own door. Instead of beckoning to a boy hidden in the trees this time, Master Arthur raps on Matthew's window.

When Matthew rolls it down, the young lord says, "Come talk with me."

"Yes, Sir," Matthew says.

They walk a little ways, until the trunk of a fallen tree presents itself. Master Arthur seats himself, and motions for Matthew to do the same.

Matthew, as always, has his eyes cast down politely. He doesn't feel Master Arthur's gaze on him, so he dares a sidelong glance and sees Master Arthur looking off into the distance. He thinks maybe Master Arthur didn't actually want to talk, but that perhaps "come talk with me" is a colloquialism amongst the well-to-do for not wanting to be alone. He shifts his own gaze down and off, sitting quietly, something like contentment bleeding in at the edges.

Then: "That boy," Master Arthur says, "the one I had the other week." And now Matthew feels Master Arthur turn to him. "You knew him, didn't you?"

Matthew swallows. "Yes, Sir."

"Not just as one of the household servants. You _knew_ him."

"Yes, Sir."

"He's your lover."

Matthew doesn't say anything.

"Is it that I'm wrong?" Master Arthur says after a moment of consideration. "Or do you object to the classification?" When Matthew makes no reply, Master Arthur continues, "My wife, who seems rather oddly fond of you, tells me things about you sometimes. She tells me that you never say the word 'no'."

Matthew remains silent.

"Your bedmate, then," Master Arthur says, returning to the matter of Alfred. "Is that what he is? Your sexual partner?"

"Yes, Sir," Matthew says. His mouth is dry; swallowing does not seem to help.

"Do you love him?"

Even though he knows it does not help, Matthew swallows again.

"I wonder," Master Arthur says, "if I am intruding where I am not welcome, or if the answer is that you do not love him."

He expects no reply, and Matthew makes none.

"My wife tells me that you do not love him," Master Arthur says then. "She is nearly always right. She would have me believe that she is never wrong, but no one can be right all the time and I am determined to catch her.

"However, she tells me you do not love that boy, and I am inclined to think that in this, she is right.

"She tells me," Master Arthur goes on in his casual, conversational tone, "that you love me."

Matthew's mouth opens, but only to breathe before shutting again.

"Matthew," Master Arthur says, "do you love me?"

Matthew closes his eyes. And whispers, "Yes, Sir."

He feels Master Arthur touching him with more than his eyes now; he feels Master Arthur's hands on him, feels Master Arthur through his clothing.

"Is this all right, Matthew?"

"Yes, Sir."

Matthew's shirt tugs against his back as Master Arthur manipulates the buttons in front, and now a light breeze caresses Matthew's skin indiscriminately, the warmth of the sun plays across it; Master Arthur's fingertips are more resolute, more heated as they move down and down. Now and then, Master Arthur pauses to ask if this is all right, and each time Matthew says, sometimes barely audible, "Yes, Sir."

When he reaches the lacings of Matthew's trousers, Master Arthur lets his hand rest. "Shall I continue," he asks, "or do you wish me to stop?" Matthew's eyes meet his fleetingly before sliding off. "Do you want me to stop?" Master Arthur repeats, teasing his fingers the length of Matthew's arousal.

White-knuckled, Matthew scrapes splinters off the log beneath him, his hands digging into it even as his hips arch off.

Finally, Master Arthur says, "I need you to say it, Matthew. I need to know that you can say no to me, so that I know you really mean it when you say yes."

Matthew understands the logic and desire of it; he does. But after so many years of training and practice, he can't bring the word out. Master Arthur begins stroking Matthew's cock through the fabric of his trousers, slowly, rhythmically, and Matthew can't do anything but breathe, ragged helpless rhythm. He's having a hard time breathing, not only because of his arousal but because the word is stuck in his throat. For years and years, he's swallowed the word and said nothing at all every time he's thought it. Because that's just how it has to be.

When he has undone the lacings, Master Arthur curls his fingers around Matthew's arousal and takes him out. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks yet again. His fingers pause, hover, flutter into slight contact, drift into hovering again.

Matthew hears the word in his head, but he cannot feel it on his tongue let alone bring it off. His tongue licks uselessly at his lips, unable to soothe the tremors there. Master Arthur's fingers lick along his flesh, only inciting the tremors there. There are tremors in his very breath, and Matthew cannot be soothed.

"Matthew," Master Arthur breathes, "do you know how you beautiful you are right now?"

Matthew swallows and lets his lips part but still no sound comes out, nothing but breath escapes even when he slicks the passage with his tongue. He would look away, but Master Arthur holds him fast in his gaze.

"No."

The word has fallen from Matthew before he knew it was at the edge. He wants more than ever to look away now, but Master Arthur is still holding him, looking at him.

Master Arthur's mouth moves in a smile. He moves, still holding Matthew in his gaze, until his smile presses to Matthew's silent and still mouth. The smile opens against him, touches him, enters him, consumes him and leaves him whole in its wake.

"Now," Master Arthur says, taking Matthew in his gaze anew, looking into his eyes as his fingertips travel Matthew's body, "do you want this? Do you want me?"

"Yes," Matthew says, returning the gaze; "yes."


End file.
